


Spur Of The Moment, Flip Of A Coin

by nextraordinaire



Series: Something Blue [3]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Dubious Consent, First Time, High School, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles asks him, (casually, almost five years later) who his first was, Erik can’t help but think of her, again, although he knows he shouldn’t. It had only been for those weeks, (three to be precise) and he’d been seventeen and stupid and desperate to feel alive and she'd been ethereal and her skin so full of blazing heat.</p><p>She'd been hot enough to burn, but not leave a lingering scar, and he still doesn't know what to make of it. </p><p>Even after all these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spur Of The Moment, Flip Of A Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Set before It's 7th Grade Stuff, so there will be brackets. More serious Warnings in End Notes.

When Charles asks him, (casually, almost five years later) who his first was, Erik can’t help but think of her, again, although he knows he shouldn’t. It had only been for those weeks, (three to be precise) and he’d been seventeen and stupid and desperate to feel alive and she'd been ethereal and her skin so full of blazing heat.

She'd been hot enough to burn, but not leave a lingering scar, and he still doesn't know what to make of it.

Even after all these years.

***

They’d been hanging around at Emma’s, that night. The loud music had been everywhere, thumping, people chatting and the hostess herself had been grinding up against Sebastian Shaw in the corner. Magda – Emma’s only exception to the ‘mutants only' rule – had always had sensitive ears, even for an alpha, so it wasn’t a surprise when she moved them to a quieter corner. Not far, no, still very much in sight of the other teenagers at the party (if they’d peeked over the backrest, they’d seen, he’ll never forget that) but at least to the couch in the corner, facing the window, away from the TV and the space that had been cleared to make it easier to dance.

She'd started to pull him towards her almost a month ago (putting fish hooks under his skin with her attention, reeling him in) and this was the fourth time in a week she led them of to a private place (empty classrooms, art supply room). Erik hadn’t protested – he never did much with her – and that’s why they ended up like they did. Her strong, older hands was twined in his short hair, holding him still as they kissed, long and languid; her hips grinding down against him (almost too hot already) in a slow, rolling motion.

Even through the haze of alcohol, he could smell her; almost taste her on his tongue (heady pheromones and the scent of female alpha slick and sweat).

Music thumping, Erik’s head lolled back when she grabbed his thighs, spreading them wide (seams of his jeans creaking with the strain) to lay down in between, pressing so tightly against him he could feel the tick of her pulse against his own growing hardness (the buttons of his fly heating up). She smiled down at him (fingers still tight in his hair) with a gentle thumb against his eyebrow and a finger tapping against his first vertebrae (quick and wont).

“So damn pretty. Y’know that, right? And how to use it too.”  

Her voice was just this side of slurring, (slippery and sliding down a register, rumbling).

Erik just mumbled something in reply, (smiling too, mind still hazy) as she dived in again, mouthing at his neck with soft lips, sharp teeth (possessive, so possessive – Emma had warned him) before he felt the hand run down his back (a steady pressure against the small of his back, pushing him up against her rolling hips). One of his hands was at her hip, (resting there, following the motion above), the other fondling her erect nipple through her thin t-shirt and she was panting into his mouth with every grind. He could feel that she was ready to shift out any time soon now, so the hand striving lower on his back wasn’t a big surprise.

But it was when she slipped it inside his jeans (“Wearing the tight ones tonight?” she’d asked over the kitchen island, cheeky grin in place beer in hand. Erik had cocked his head to the side, bathing in her attention, feeling her eyes on him like a private joke. “You can tell?” “You look really good in them. And they please me. A lot”) he stiffened beneath her, a rush of something cold prickling in his legs (adrenaline, he knows now). She’d never strayed that far before, (always above the belt when they necked). But she didn’t seem to notice (experienced, had been around the block, eighteen but still three omegas before him) and only strove lower, cupping his ass (popping his fly open with her hands, quickly) and then two fingers pressed against his opening through his boxers.

“I just want to push inside you, you know that? Have wanted it for so long” she muttered, absentmindedly against his neck, and with his hands in her long, dark hair (slightly tousled now, damp behind her ears) he could only breathe as she circled her fingers around (dampening the fabric, spreading slick, a steady pressure growing stronger).

He knew that he was wet, could feel it in the pulsing and clenching of his insides (if she breached him now, it would get everywhere). Yet he didn’t stop her when she pulled back a bit, only to slip inside his underwear too (her hot fingertips sliding down and in between, coating them in slick) and Erik jolted, because all at once, it felt too much.

Not unpleasant yet, but he didn’t know if he wanted her to continue either.

At least he didn’t until the pressure suddenly increased, and he felt a whine build in his throat when her ring finger slipped further down and started massaging his perineum, stimulating from the outside. It felt blinding, (too much, too strange) and he twisted his hips to get away, involuntarily pushing up into her (body tightening) and eliciting a moan from her smiling lips. He didn’t know if just he imagined the damp patch forming at the front of on her jeans, or if it was his own perspiration tricking him.

Metal felt like a lifetime away and her necklace had gone cold. His jaws were locked.

“Hold on to me” she whispered to him – alpha voice strong and curling around the words – as her fingers stopped, just tapping a quick rhythm against his hole. “Open up for me baby, come on.”

He couldn’t but obey, and without a beat her fingers pushed in.

He’d done it to himself before, (alone in bed, in the shower, looking for that place they said would light him up) but never with two right away. The sudden stretch of the fingers hitched his breath and he cried out, trying to twist away.

“Ow, oh god, stop,  _stop_  –”

“Shh, shh. Sorry about that,” she hushed, petting his hair and then her fingers stopped (still inside him, scissoring wide, holding him open, slick trickling out) and she kissed him again, tongue pressing against his as her lips moved possessively. He’d been breathing in rushes by then (overwhelmed, in pain and lost) when she started up again – deep plunges, opening him up, going so deep he couldn’t breathe and when she brushed up at a new angle, Erik jolted again.

“Mmm, good isn’t it? Just think about what I could do to you, doing this proper…” she mumbled, crooking her fingers, digging into his prostate, ring finger massaging from the outside.

Erik’s heart stopped. The ceiling fan was blurry above. His ass was clenching and releasing around her fingers, tension building and building and building with every plunge–

“Darling, so good – come on, Erik, come for me,  _now_.”

An order, (her alpha voice reverberated through the air and people should have caught on by then). She was so hot, scorching between his legs (the throbbing of her vulva a fixed point as she grinded against him, too much) but he couldn’t but obey when she crooked her fingers again and all but  _lifted_  him off of the goddamned couch (fingers like a hook and ever-ending pressure on  _that_  spot).

A hand went over his mouth when he tried to shout from the pleasure of tightening muscles, (insides releasing a trickle of slick in their wake) and pulsing blood and Magda’s eyes were bright and open, dark and vicious above him.

Meanwhile, music was still thumping around them and apart from Magda’s soaked hand (she wiped the excess off on her own stomach under the thin t-shirt, nipples still hard and tight, visible through the fabric), the wet patch on the front of Erik’s jeans and their swollen lips, the evidence was non-existent.

Yet, Erik was trembling all over as he sat up, buttoning his fly without using his hands (focusing on the alloys, heated beyond body temperature). Magda swept her hair into a quick pony tail and gave him a long look he didn’t see as much as felt (she was stripping him to his bones with her eyes alone).

“Can we –”

“You wanna go home?” she asked at the same time. Her voice (still slurring and slippery) held a note that he couldn’t read. So he just nodded.

“Alright” she said, and stood up.

Clearing her throat, she reached out a hand (that hand, still damp and slightly sticky) for him to take. He did and she led him out to her car (every step heavy and jarring).

The ride to Erik’s was slow and he didn’t know what to say. He felt open – like a gash – and not at all warm and completed as he thought he would. He leant away from her when she tried to touch him, and she let it be.

But she was chewing her lip the entire drive.

***

The next week she’d come up to him during school (woolen jumper, hair in plaits) and ordered him to wait by her locker after school. He hadn’t spoken to her since the weekend (still too open and something acid awakening in his veins) but despite everything in him telling him not to he’d nodded and waited for her while the corridors went empty.

She’d showed up late and with a firm voice told him she couldn’t go on with this. That he was a child, too inexperienced and sensitive and that she only would cause him grief, being too callous. That she was sorry for what happened, that she'd been drunk and that he was free to do whatever with that, but that this was over. That this had to stop.

She’d had the same note in her voice then, as she’d had that night, but Erik hadn’t caught it.

He’d been too occupied with his the burn behind his eyes.

***

He knows that Charles finds it annoying that he’s so stand-offish, (especially since he made the first move, showed interest) won’t let him touch him or his mind. But Charles isn’t pushing him about it either, or at least he tries really hard not to. His voice is always readable and clear and while he makes innuendos like a twelve-year-old, he has an air of innocence about him. Erik thinks he looks like a whirlwind and yet not.

And then Charles asks, almost every time they meet, if Erik wants to follow him home to continue their debates, instead of parting at the bike racks as they always do.

Every time, Erik just shakes his head.

Charles can’t know where he lives, so he often leaves after Charles has already started walking down his own street. But he follows the warmed metal of Charles’ watch all through the cobbled streets until he feels the latch open (the metal going cold from the air of the night, lying on a bedside table).

***

It’s been three months now. Coffee dates on Mondays, Fridays and Sundays and so far, Charles has showed up to each and everyone. Always smiling and open – jokes ready and hands in his pockets.

Erik wonders if he should let Charles bring him home tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Bad communication resulting in non-consensual sex, underage, and drinking, so proceed with caution!


End file.
